The Hazy Dawn
by lady scribe of avandell
Summary: She didn’t want this. She hardly knew the man. She was glad for the custom of hiding the bride’s face it would not do for her new subjects to see their queen crying at her own wedding.
1. Doe Eyes

**A/N:** this is just a random blurb that i came up with while trying to break through the block in btsf. it's kinda weird, and i don't know if i'll be continuing it or anything, but i thought i'd put it up anyways.

::disclaimer:: all standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

Doe Eyes 

She didn't want this. It was her father's plan, not hers. She hardly knew the man. But here Lothíriel stood, waiting to be given to the king of Rohan. A silent tear trickled down her face as the vows were said. She was glad for the custom of hiding the bride's face; it would not do for her new subjects to see their queen crying at her own wedding.

And then he lifted the veil from her face. He leaned closer, and she remembered they were supposed to kiss. She closed her eyes and tilted her face upward. The crowd applauded as their lips met, though they did so for only a brief moment.

"I hope you will be happy here," he whispered as he drew away. She did not respond.

* * *

The wedding feast was long. Lothíriel sat quietly as her new husband accepted gifts and blessings from well-wishers. He hardly spoke two words to her, and she made no effort to begin a conversation. At last, he decided it was late enough for them to escape the feast. To much cajoling, he rose and spoke. "As much as I have enjoyed this celebration, my friends, I fear that my lady—" he smiled encouragingly at Lothíriel "—and I must retire. But please, continue your feasting." He drained his tankard and beckoned for Lothíriel to follow him. Amid cheers, they exited the great hall and went to the bedchambers that had been prepared for them. 

He closed the door to the chamber as Lothíriel looked around. It was a typical Rohirric bedroom: banners and tapestries decorated the walls, an animal skin lay on the cold stone floor, blankets were piled on the bed, a warm fire crackled in the hearth. "Please, make yourself comfortable," he said. She turned to him. He had removed the great cloak and crown he had worn during the ceremony, and while he was still a huge man, he seemed much more human. "Would you care to sit? To have some wine?" He paused. "To sleep?"

His last question reminded her of her duties as a bride, and her tears began afresh. She collapsed on the rug, uncaring that she was crumpling her wedding dress, and cried. Her husband stood, watching her as if she were a frightened colt. He knelt beside her, whispering soothing words. He carefully took hold of the golden circlet on her head and removed it. He moved behind her and began to unbind her hair. As he removed the last clasp, he combed his fingers though her dark curls, loosening the strands. This seemed to have a calming effect on her, and soon her sobs decreased to a faint sniffle.

"I did not want this," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"I have no wish to be here." She turned to him. "I do not love you. You do not love me. I will stay out of your way."

"We could learn to love one another."

She laughed bitterly. "I love only the sea. And I shall never be near it again." The king said nothing, but rose and left the room, leaving his new queen to mourn the loss of her beloved sea.

* * *

The weeks went by, and rumors began to grow among the people. Some whispered that the new queen was already with child—that she had been before the wedding. Others scoffed at that and said she was repulsed by the Rohirric customs. A few said that perhaps she had taken ill and had been unable to leave her bed. "Aye, only because our king has so weakened the Gondorian flower," the first group would say, and everyone laughed. But all knew that, whatever the truth, the queen had not made a public appearance since her wedding feast.

In truth, it was none of these. Lothíriel did as she had said she would: she stayed away from her husband. Instead, she occuppied her time writing letters to her brothers, reading the books she had brought from Dol Amroth, and sewing. She spent most of her time sewing tapestries in the royal chambers, alone, since she had no ladies-in-waiting that had come to Rohan with her. Yes, it was quiet, and often lonely, but it gave Lothíriel something to do as she whiled away the hours between dawn and dusk.

It was on one such occasion that, after the evening meal, her husband came to her in the bedroom. "My lady," he said, "the people gossip of you."

"I do not care." She continued her needlework.

He knealt beside her, taking the tapestry from her so that she could not ignore him. "I fear that you waste away in this prison you have invented for yourself," he said. "This was my sister's prison. It should not be yours as well."

"I did not ask for this," she replied.

"I did not say that you did. But please, do not become what my sister was—a shadow of herself. I could not bear to watch it."

She nearly faltered at the pleading in his eyes but quickly regained her composure. She said nothing, but took back her sewing and returned to her work.

"Am I so terrible that you would lock yourself away?" he asked. She did not answer. He sighed and began to rise, but then he stopped and on impulse, took hold of her chin. He kissed her gently and left.

Lothíriel watched him go, tears trailing down her face. She stood, letting her needlework fall to the floor. Quietly, she let herself into the sittingroom her husband had just entered. She shut the door silently. She did not dare to speak as she watched her husband change into his nightclothes. He shrugged off his shirt and replaced it with a lighter cotton one and then turned, blinking in surprise at the sight of his wife.

"What is it?" he asked.

"My lord, I-I—" her words stumbled, and he came closer to her.

"You what?" he said gently.

"My lord, I—never mind." She turned swiftly to leave, but he took hold of her arm.

"Please," he said, "call me Éomer." Her doe eyes met his dark hazel ones, and she slipped her arm from his grasp and ran into the bedroom, locking the door behind her.


	2. Frightened Colt

::disclaimer:: ha. i wish.

* * *

Frightened Colt 

Time passed, and the queen became more reclusive. The gossip turned to anger as more people came to believe that she despised them. While he did not hear it spoken, Éomer could feel the tension from his people.

"What do I do?" he asked Éothain over tankards of ale one night. "She's made it quite clear she has not interest in me, let alone in the country. Why, the only part of Rohan she's seen besides the inside of Meduseld is the road from the Dwimorberg!"

"Perhaps therein lies your problem," suggested Éothain. "If she has never seen the beauty of Rohan, how can she ever be happy?"

Éomer raised an eyebrow. "And how do I persuade her to go riding across Rohan?"

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that." A pensive look settled on the younger man's features.

The both looked down at their tankards, as if the drink within would hold the answer to the hermit queen. "It is unfortunate there is no sea in Rohan," commented Éomer. "She told me it was the only thing she loved."

"She actually spoke to you?" Éothain asked.

"We _are_ married, you know," Éomer said.

"But when did she tell you that?"

"On our wedding night."

Éothain grimaced. "Was that before or after you made love?"

"Does it matter?"

He shrugged. "It could."

"Before, then."

"Oh. How long before?"

"A long time before."

Éothain rolled his eyes. "And how long is 'long'?"

"The truth is, we haven't made love yet," Éomer admitted.

"Lying is bad for you, Éomer," Éothain said.

The king sighed. "I'm not lying Éothain. I wish that I were."

"You mean you've been married for nearly three months and you haven't—"

"Keep it down, Éothain!" Éomer cut him off.

"And you haven't made love yet?" he whispered. "No wonder your wife is so unhappy! You've yet to show her what we Rohirrim are capable of!"

Éomer snorted. "Whatever you're talking about would probably convince her that 'we Rohirrim' are nothing more than animals."

"True," Éothain conceded, "but at least you'd get some fun out of it." He grinned wickedly.

"And that is why you don't have a wife," said Éomer.

"I don't need a wife. I'm not king. I don't need heirs. You do, and as far as I know, there is only one to get heirs. And like it or not, Éomer, you're going to have to do something about that eventually."

"I know, I know. But first I have to convince her to trust me a little."

"Which is why you should take her across Rohan. If she sees you interacting with the people, she will come to trust you."

"And how do I persuade her to go with me in the first place if she doesn't already trust me?" Éomer asked, still skeptical.

Éothain stroked his beard. "She loves the sea, yes?" Éomer nodded. "Then take her to see it. But take the long way around—through the east, to Ithilien, so you can visit Éowyn."

Éomer looked at his friend. "I thank you, I would not have thought of that. I hope she will say yes." He grinned at his friend, drained his mug, and rose, heading toward the royal chambers.

* * *

"My lady?" Éomer called for his wife as he entered their rooms. She was not sitting in the solar, nor was she asleep. "My lady?" Éomer furrowed his brow. His wife had not run away, had she? He collapsed on the bed, his head in his hands. If he could not watch over his own wife, how could he ever watch over an entire country? He sat there, wondering if he had been too gruff to her, when heard someone's plaintive singing.

It was a beautiful song, or at least a beautiful voice, and Éomer found himself rising and following the sound. It led him to a door in the room, one so inconspicuous, it was almost invisible. He turned the knob and opened the door, and to Éomer's disappointment, the singing stopped. His wife sat in the bath, her eyes wide as she looked up at him.

Éomer quickly looked at the floor. "My apologies, my lady, I did not mean to disturb you." He shut the door, relief and embarrassment washing over him. He heard a splash from the other side of the door as his wife climbed out of the bath. Éomer moved away so he would not startle her again.

She came out of the bathroom wrapped in a long velvet robe. "You may use the bath now," she said as she sat in a chair and picked up her needlework.

He shook his head and sat beside her. "That is not why—I was looking for you."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I wondered if perhaps you would wish to take a journey with me."

"To Helm's Deep?" Or Isengard? Or Aldburg?" she said.

Éomer's heart jumped. Was she actually interested in Rohan? "If you so desire, we could."

"I have no wish to see your fortresses," she snapped.

"I was thinking of going to Emyn Arnen to visit my sister. She is expecting a child in autumn, and I want to see her before then." He paused a moment. "And then I was thinking of going to Dol Amroth. I have only been there once. Will you go with me?"

"And if I chose not to?"

"Then I would wait and ask again."

She looked at him. "You make this journey for me?"

He nodded. "I cannot bear to watch you waste away as my sister did. Where Faramir had gentle words, I can only offer you this."

She smiled slightly. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as you would like."

"Truly?" He nodded, and her smile widened. "Give me a week then, so I can prepare everything."

Éomer blinked in surprise. "How much is everything?"

"I'll need enough clothes for the entire month and the guards and servants will need to prepare as well and we'll need food for at least a week and—" Éomer put a finger to her lips.

"We won't be needing all of that."

She looked at him, obviously confused. "We won't?"

He shook his head. "For one thing, there are no longer hordes of orcs roaming the plains, so we won't need a guard. For another, we won't be taking servants, you need only take what you can pack in your saddlebags. The tent and food will go on another horse so as not to burden Firefoot and your horse overmuch."

She gave him that frightened colt look again, and Éomer wondered what he had said to scare her. "I do not think I want to go," she said quietly, turning back to her neglected needlework.

"What?"

"I do not want to go," she repeated, more fiercely this time.

Now it was Éomer's turn to be confused. She had seemed so excited about it. "Why not?"

The queen mumbled something under her breath.

"I'm sorry, my lady, I did not hear you."

She sighed and repeated her words. "I said, I cannot ride."

"What!?" Éomer was shocked. "You mean you married me and you don't know how to ride a horse?"

She bristled. "Yes, I married you, but only because my father wanted to strengthen ties between Rohan and Gondor. Apparently, his saving your sister's life and Faramir's marrying her just wasn't enough. I had to marry you to finish the knots. And I said that I _cannot_ ride, not that I don't know how. I am not stupid." And with that, she rose and went out the door.

"Where are you going?" he called after her. She didn't answer, but a few moments later, he heard a door slam.


	3. Live for the Plains

::disclaimer:: someday, maybe i will…but i doubt it.

* * *

Live for the Plains

Lothíriel sat on the porch, tears stinging her face. She had known that at some point, her husband would want her to ride with him, but she had hoped that maybe he would help her. Instead, he had been offended. It was not her fault that she could not ride. What had he expected? After all, she had grown up on the sea, not on the back of a horse like he had.

She heard footsteps as someone came to where she was seated. "Go away, Éomer." She spat his name like a curse.

He laughed softly. "I hate to disappoint you, my queen, but I am not Éomer." She turned and saw that, indeed, he was not her husband. He was younger, close in age to her youngest brother, Amrothos, and leaner than the wide-shouldered king. He smiled. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced, my queen. My name is Éothain, and I am one of the king's marshals." He bowed, and Lothíriel could not help but smile at his extravagance.

"I am Lothíriel," she said, "and while I am queen, I do not wish it. I would give all the years ahead of me in this—this _nadhras_ for a week, even a day, of freedom."

"Freedom from what, my queen?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Please, call me Lothíriel, the title makes me feel distant. And sit; I do not like craning my neck to look at people." He obliged, and she relaxed some. "As for your question, I want to be free of this." She waved a hand at their surroundings. "And of my 'queenly duties.' I did not marry the king out of love, but rather out of obligation. I do not see how anyone could believe anything would come of our marriage when he so obviously hates me."

"Hates you, my lady? I do not understand. Éomer has never hated anyone, save the Worm." He betrayed his own distaste for the former king's adviser.

"Yes, well, where there is a first, a second often follows." She sniffled slightly, and Éothain handed her a handkerchief. "But it is not my fault I was not born in a saddle," she continued. I live for the sea, not the plains. And I _do _know how to ride, I just can't."

"What is the difference?" Éothain asked, somewhat amused.

"If he had let me explain before he became offended, I would have told him. I know how to ride, but I'm terrible at it. If I want to go one way, the beast goes the opposite. I have to tie the creature down to get on it, and it usually shakes me off the first few times anyway. I tell you, the monsters hate me. And that is why I cannot ride."

Éothain burst into laughter. Lothíriel scowled at him as he tried to control himself. "I cannot imagine someone so terri—" He stopped short as her scowl deepened. "I'm sorry, that was unnecessary."

"But you see my dilemma, yes? I have been sent to the land of the horse-lords—married to their king!—and I cannot ride. You see why I want to escape this."

"I can see why," he said, "but I do not understand. To me, Rohan _is_ freedom. Here, we are free from the strict court rules your people are governed by. Here, we can farm our land, ride our horses, raise our families, according to the ways we see fit. No, we are not so great or grand as yonder Mundberg, but we would not have it any other way."

"You make it sound so wonderful," she whispered. She looked at Éothain. "You make me wish to make the best of it."

"Then why do you not?" he asked. "Tell Éomer what you have told me; nothing would bring him more joy than to teach you the ways of the horses. They are a part of him, they are in his name and in his blood. Let them become a part of you."

* * *

When Lothíriel arrived back in the chambers after her talk with Éothain, Éomer was already fast asleep on a pallet in the sitting room. She looked at him sadly. She wondered what he would say if she woke him and offered to sleep on the floor and give him the bed for the night. He would probably say that he had slept in worse conditions before and that she shouldn't trouble herself with a night on the floor. Was this what she had done to herself and to him? Had she really turned into the shadow that he said she was? She did not know, and she was not sure she wanted to know.

Lothíriel looked back at him. She bit her lip and knealt beside him. His breathing was steady, and she was almost afraid to disturb him. He looked so peaceful, so calm, lying there. She took a deep breath and tapped his shoulder. He twitched slightly, muttering softly in Rohirric. She did it again, more bravely this time. He sat up suddenly, surprising Lothíriel. His eyes darted around. "Awiergan eow!" he shouted. She backed away quickly as he came back to reality. "My lady?" he said quietly. "What—can I help you?"

She nodded mutely, too frightened to speak.

"Will you tell me?" he asked.

"Teach me to ride," she whispered. "And to speak your language." She added the second part as an afterthought.

"What?"

"I know how to ride," she explained urgently, "but I am horrid at it. Teach me to ride like you do. Please."

"Yes, yes, but—" he furrowed his brow "—why the language?"

She blushed slightly. "I want to know what you said."

"Oh." It was his turn to blush. "I don't know if I'll teach you that."

She smiled despite herself, guessing at what his words had meant. "But before you can teach me anything," she said quickly, "you must do one thing."

"And what is that?"

"Call me Lothíriel."

"I will do that…Lothíriel."

* * *

**A/N: **this will be my last update before christmas. tomorrow, i'm leaving for florida. i wasn't expecting to have this finished, but i thought i'd give you guys an early christmas present. thank you for your lovely reviews, have a good holiday!  
just a note: "nadhras" is sindarin for "pasture." i thought it was a fitting description of how lothiriel views rohan at the moment. and "awiergan eow" is rohirric (or old english) for "damb you." sort of.  
also, if someone could come up with a better title for the over-all story, it would be greatly appreciated. "doe eyes" is a sucky title.  



	4. Stupid Remark

::disclaimer:: i am not floridian. i do not have enough money to buy an unnecessary hummer, let alone the rights to lotr. end of story.

* * *

Stupid Remark 

It was early the next morning when Éomer led his wife down to the stables. There were few people about, but they stopped and watched the dark-haired woman beside their king. "Why do they stare?" she whispered, obviously uncomfortable.

"They've not seen you since our wedding," he whispered back. "I would stare, too." He smiled encouragingly. She wore an old blue calf-length dress with brown leggings that had once been Éowyn's. It had taken some convincing on Éomer's part for her to wear it, but she finally relented when he reasoned that it would be easier to ride in than in one of her more courtly dresses. "We'll go out the side gate instead of the main one if it would make you feel better," he assured her. She nodded, and he took her hand as they completed the short distance to the stables.

Inside, it smelled of fresh straw and feed and horses. Éomer took a deep breath and sighed, grinning when Lothíriel wrinkled her nose at the pervading scent of manure. "I love the smell of the stables in the morning," he said. "It's so fresh and clean. Don't you think so?"

"I am sure it is," she answered, waving a hand in front of her nose, "but it is very stuffy in here. Can we just find a horse and get out? Please?"

"Not so fast, my lovely lady. If you want to do this properly, we must go slowly. First, we should select a horse—either a mare or a gelding—that will fit you and your purpose." He put on the air of a horse merchant. "Now, will you being riding this horse for leisure, travel, or battle?"

His question produced the desired effect; she laughed slightly at the last. "Leisure and travel," she answered, playing along.

"And do you prefer white, brown, or black?"

"Black."

"Ah! My lady, I believe I have just the horse for you. Just follow me, if you please." He led her through a maze of stalls to one on the far end of the hall. "This," he said, guiding the horse to the gate of his stall, "is Aelfan. He was sired by my own Firefoot."

"He?" she asked, uncertain.

Éomer nodded. "Aelfan is a gelding and one of the sweetest-natured horses I've ever had the pleasure of training."

"Oh," she murmured, reaching toward the horse tentatively.

"Pet his nose, on the white star. He likes that." She touched the horse's nose, and it shook slightly, causing her to jerk back. "No sudden moves," Éomer breathed, taking her hand and guiding it back to the horse's nose. "You'll frighten him."

He let go of her hand as her confidence grew. Lothíriel spoke to the horse softly in what sounded suspiciously like Sindarin. She turned to Éomer and smiled. "He's wonderful! Shall we go?" She moved to open the gate, but Éomer stopped her.

"Not yet. We need to find tack that will fit both of you. There's no sense in teaching you to ride if the gear isn't right." He took her to where the gear was kept. "We'll find you some medium-length reins. They're not as short as the ones we use in battle, but they're not as long as some of the others." He moved to the saddles. "I believe one of the smaller saddles will fit you best." Lothíriel blushed slightly at the implication, and Éomer grinned as he picked up a saddle.

Her eyes flew up to his face when she saw what he had chosen for her. "Have you no side-saddles?" she asked quietly.

Éomer could not help but laugh. "Side-saddles? They are an abomination! A blot on society! A poor fool's unsuccessful attempt at being inventive! No wonder you cannot ride!"

"Oh," she muttered, "I did not know they were so despised. Forgive me," she said, venom in her voice, and ran out the door.

* * *

_Imbecile! Idiot! Blunderbuss!_ Éomer cursed himself as he trudged back to Meduseld. He went to their chambers only to find what he had expected: the doors were locked. He knocked on the door, though he knew it was a futile endeavor. "Lothíriel?" 

"Go away."

"Please, may I come in?"

"No."

"Not even to change my clothes?"

She did not speak for a moment, as if considering this. "What clothes do you want?"

"The brown breeches and a white shirt." He could hear her shuffling around inside, and he hoped that maybe she would open the door.

"They are in a basket outside the window," she said. "You may retrieve your things from there."

Éomer decided it would be best to humor her for the time being, though he was wary of treachery. On more than one occasion had Éowyn dumped water or worse on his head as he walked outside the windows. But sure enough, there was a basket with his clothes, waiting outside the high window.

"Do you need anything else?" Lothíriel called.

"No. Thank you," he answered woodenly.

"It was nothing." She closed the shutters.

::break::

Éomer paced in his study that evening. How in the name of Béma was he going to regain Lothíriel's good graces? She was sure to feel insulted now, and he had not even meant to do so! A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. He shook himself slightly and said, "Come in," hoping it was Lothíriel.

Instead, it was Éothain. "Éomer?" asked the younger man. "What are you doing here? I thought you and Lothí—your lady were going riding today."

Éomer sighed and collapsed into a chair. "We were. But then I made a comment about side-saddles being abominations. She's been locked in our chamber ever since. She even tossed my clothes to me from a window." He rubbed his eyes with both hands, sighing. "I don't know what to do. It seemed things were on the mend—she even liked the horse—but I made one stupid remark and—poof!—it's gone."

"You two need to talk," Éothain said. "How do you expect to ever get along if you never speak to each other?"

"She makes it impossible, Éothain, locking herself in her rooms."

"The doors are made of wood, not stone. You can talk through them, even if you can't walk through them," he answered.

Éomer snorted. "Why do I listen to you, anyway? You're not even married." He stood and stomped out the door.

"Where are you going?" Éothain called after him.

"To my rooms," he threw back.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: **that was lovely, wasn't it? as you can see, i have returned from the netherworld. and in response to a review i got earlier (don't remember who it was), i will be updating btsf soon. the plot reviver bug bit me while i was at the beach collecting shells, so i hope to have the next chapter of that up before the end of the year (egads! there's only a few days left!). also, i've got a belated christmas tale for you guys if i can ever get my thoughts into a cohesive story. until then, i hope you enjoyed this!


	5. Unpleasantness Forgotten

::disclaimer:: don't own it. so there.

* * *

Unpleasantness Forgotten

Lothíriel was eating the lunch that had been brought to her when he knocked on the door. She knew it was him even before he spoke; no one else would come to the solar unless summoned.

"Lothíriel?" he asked. "Please, might I come in?" She smiled slightly. He had not tried the door. Had he done so, he could have allowed himself in. "I can understand why you would be upset with me," he said. She could hear him moving outside she assumed he was sitting against the door. "I did not know you like to ride side-saddle. Few people in Rohan have ever seen such contraptions, and those that have believe that they are ridiculous."

Secretly, Lothíriel agreed with him. She was quite certain that riding side-saddle was part of the reason she could not master the skill. After all, her brothers had taught her to ride, and none of them knew anything about side-saddles. Now that she thought about it, she realized she had over-reacted when he had called side-saddles "abominations." He had only been stating a fact.

"But Lothíriel," Éomer said, drawing her away from her thoughts, "I would very much like to make it up to you. I would like to start over. We never had a chance to get to know each other before the wedding, and I am very sorry for that. You deserve better."

Something in his plea touched Lothíriel's heart. She stood and went to the door. She opened it slightly and peered out at her husband. He sat leaning against the wall and had not noticed the opened door. She took a deep breath and spoke. "Would you like to come in?"

He stood quickly, brushing off his pants. "If it is all right with you."

She nodded and let him in. "I am sorry I don't have more food than this," she said, indicating her lunch as they sat at the table. "I wasn't expecting to be sharing."

"I already ate," he assured her.

"Oh, of course," she said, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Lothíriel could not stand it. "I'm sorry for being angry," she blurted. "Everything here is just so foreign to me. In Dol Amroth, all ladies ride _only_ side—"

"I said we would start over, and I meant it. Forget about this morning. Forget these past three months. I want to do this correctly." He stood and bowed elegantly to her. "My lady," he said, taking her hand, "I am Éomer, son of Éomund, and am king of the Riddermark. Might I inquire of your name?"

Lothíriel stood as well and curtseyed, playing along. "You may," she replied, "and I shall tell you. I am Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, and am a princess of Dol Amroth."

"And what has brought you to my fair country?" he asked.

"A wedding," she murmured. "Between a princess and a king. It occurred months ago, but the princess has been unhappy." Lothíriel sat back down.

"Why?" Éomer asked, also returning to his seat. "It seems that this king would grant her every wish were she only to ask."

"Would he?" she asked, distant. "I believe she is unhappy because she is frightened. Her husband is an intimidating man even when he does not mean to be. She has been married to him for three months, and he has yet to exercise his rights as a husband. This frightens her more than lying with him every night: anticipation and anxiety. Not knowing what – what to expect." A singled tear spilled down her face.

"Lothíriel, you don't ever have to be afraid of me," he said, brushing the tear away. "Never." This declaration only furthered her tears, and she struggled to regain control of her emotions.

Finally, her tears subsided. He continued to wipe them away, and she leaned into his touch. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For hating you."

"It does not matter," he said. "We are starting over. Fresh, clean. As if we are only courting. And we shall take it one step at a time. Nothing new until you are ready."

Her tears threatened to surface again. "Why are you so good to me?"

"Too many women have wasted away before my eyes. My mother, when my father was killed. My sister, when the Worm followed her….I cannot watch my wife do the same." He smiled slightly. "Besides, Éothain is very convincing."

"Yes," she agreed. When he frowned, she quickly explained, "He suggested I ask for the riding lessons."

"Ah. So all this is his fault! Shall I throw him in the dungeons or do we give him a week of mucking the stables?"

"You could send him on a pointless mission to Dale."

Éomer shook his head. "I might need his advice, and it is far easier to talk to someone down the stairs in a dungeon than someone a thousand leagues away."

Lothíriel laughed. "Then send him to the dungeons."

* * *

They spent the afternoon like that, talking and laughing, their earlier unpleasantness forgotten for the time being. The day wore on, giving way to evening. Éomer had their dinner brought to their rooms. It was their first meal together since their wedding, though neither made mention of it.

All too soon, it grew late, and Éomer rose to lay out his cot. On impulse, Lothíriel grasped his hand as he passed. She looked into his eyes and said, "Do not sleep on the floor tonight, not on my account." He looked at her, a question in his eyes, but nodded slowly.

"I shall go change clothes," he said, and he went into the bedchamber.

Lothíriel followed, gathering up her nightgown and robe and going into the bath. What she had just done had been risky, certainly, and she hoped he had not taken her words for more than what she meant. Her fears were allayed, however, when she returned to the bedchamber to find him already beneath the blankets. She crossed the room to the bed and climbed in beside him. Without a word, he blew out the last of the candles.

It was strangely comforting, having the warmth of another person in her bed. Lothíriel listened to her husband's steady breathing. She rolled over and looked at him. He lay on his back, sleeping peacefully. She smiled softly and rolled over again, pulling the blankets over her shoulders.

* * *

The city was burning. Great fires spread as the people ran, chased by orcs and other fell creatures. Lothíriel darted through the crowd, shouting for her husband. They had become separated in the rush to escape the burning city, and she had lost him. A building collapsed nearby, and she could hear the screams of those still inside. She ran on, searching for a way to escape the raging fires and plundering orcs. At last, she found a short respite in a garden that was still untouched by the blaze. Even the cries of the people seemed muted in that small oasis. She shook as she stood, trying to catch her breath. She had been running and searching for an eternity, it seemed, but she had seen no sign of her husband anywhere. She looked around the garden, hoping to find him there. A man was standing with his back to her, looking over the destruction of the city. She walked to him, planning to ask him if he had seen her husband. He turned to her and spoke. "You look for your husband, yes?" She nodded mutely. The man smiled. "He will be brought to you." He clapped his hands twice, and two orcs came into the garden, dragging a hooded body between them. The man pulled off the hood, and Lothíriel gasped. Her husband! The man smiled at her again, malice clear on his face. She watched in horror as he drew his sword. The man brought it toward Éomer's neck as Lothíriel screamed.

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** sorry about the cliffie, i just couldn't resist. never fear, the next chapter is coming along quite nicely, so you won't have to wait too long. maybe. i hope you guys like the more toned-down lothiriel…the way i figure it, eomer just tries to be nice at the wrong time of the month, if you know what i mean.  
and just a quick note to lady golodwen: yeah, they usually had separate rooms, but the story would lose some of its tension.


	6. Another Day

::disclaimer:: i don't own it, and i never will own it.

* * *

Another Day

"Lothíriel! Lothíriel!" Éomer shook her. "Lothíriel, wake up!" She screamed again and opened her eyes, breathing heavily. "Lothíriel?" he asked cautiously.

She sat up and looked at him. "You were dead. He-he beheaded you. The city was burning, and you were dead. You were dead." She threw her arms around him and sobbed hysterically. "They screamed. They were so loud. And I-I shouted, too. I couldn't find you. I couldn't find a way out. Everything was burning, and the women screamed. There was a man in the garden—he said he would bring you to me. They had you—they had you. The man took out his sword and…." She did not finish as the sobs racked her body again, but Éomer could guess the out come. "It was—it was—"

"Just a nightmare," he finished for her. "It was just a nightmare. Nothing is burning, no one is dying, and I still have my head. You needn't fear anymore."

"But it was so real."

"It was only a nightmare," he repeated. He kissed the top of her head. "Now get some sleep." He released her from his embrace, but she only clung tighter.

"Please, don't let go of me," she whispered.

"I won't. I promise."

* * *

When Éomer awoke again, it was daylight outside, and there was no sign of Lothíriel. He lay back, reliving the day before. They had laughed a lot—something that surprised Éomer. Once she began to open up, Lothíriel had been willing to laugh at herself and her unfounded fears. She had even admitted to hating side-saddles! They made plans to have the riding lessons another day. Éomer smiled. She seemed willing to learn, and with their new friendship, teaching her would be a pleasure.

And then Éomer's mind turned to darker matters: Lothíriel's nightmare. She had startled him awake when she shouted his name. Though he wondered what the cause of the dream had been, Éomer was comforted and somewhat pleased that Lothíriel had been so frightened for him. And when she asked him not to let go of her, he held her until they both drifted back to sleep. She had felt so wonderful in his arms; he hoped he could spend the rest of his nights with his arms around her.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of a door closing. Éomer rose and pulled on a robe, going out to the solar. Lothíriel jumped when he said, "Good morning."

"Good morning to you as well, Éomer," she said, once she had recovered from her surprise. "I brought you something." She pushed her way into the bedroom, and Éomer caught the smell of fresh scones from her basket.

He breathed deeply. "They smell delicious."

Lothíriel laughed, a sound Éomer delighted in. "The scones are not for you," she said. "This is." She pulled a knife out of the basket. It was silver, inlaid with a mother-of-pearl swan design on the hilt. "I was supposed to give it to you on our wedding night, but I must admit I was disinclined to do so that evening."

"It's beautiful," he murmured.

"It should be; it was made by the best silver smith in Dol Amroth." She smiled, obviously delighted. "I am glad you like it."

He looked up from studying the blade. "I would like one of those scones even more."

She laughed again. "Very well, I suppose you may have _one_."

"Thank you." He set the knife on the table and took a scone. "Though I would have gotten one anyway."

"Oh? And how would you have managed that?" she asked, taking back the basket.

"I would have distracted you," he answered.

"How?" she began to ask, but before she could finish, he kissed her. The basket fell to the floor as Éomer began to deepen the kiss, but then Lothíriel pushed him away. He tried to kiss her again, but she put her hand on his chest, keeping her distance. "One step at a time, remember?" She moved away and bent to pick up the fallen basket.

Éomer turned away. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she answered.

"I shouldn't have—"

"Don't worry about it."

"Where have you been this morning?" he asked after an awkward silence.

"The kitchens, obviously. No offence to you or your kinsmen, but I have grown tired of venison stew and dark bread and desire something with a bit more flavor. I asked the cook to show me the herb gardens. She was more than happy to comply." She grinned. "Did you know that the soil here is very similar to what we have at home? At least, it is similar to what we have in the palace gardens. I shall have to send for seeds to plant here."

"Or we could go ourselves."

She looked up at him. "That offer is still open? I thought it was just a way to get me out of the palace."

"It was," he admitted, "but the offer is open, just the same. I would like to see my sister before she has her child, and I know you would like to go to Dol Amroth."

"When can we go?"

"As soon as you've learned to ride."

She raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing today?"

* * *

They led the horses out through the side gate. Éomer took them around a hill so Lothíriel would feel less self-conscious. As he brought them to a stop, he turned to his wife. "Lothíriel, I would like you to meet Firefoot. Firefoot, this is Lothíriel. Be nice to her." The horse neighed, as if claiming no promises.

"You do not want me to learn to ride on him, do you?" Lothíriel asked, her eyes wide.

Éomer laughed. "Of course not. I would not wish that on even the worst of my enemies. No, you shall be learning on Aelfan, but I want you to be comfortable around Firefoot. He is my closest companion."

"Even closer than Éothain and your advisers?"

He nodded. "Firefoot hears all of my troubles, my fears, my hopes. And he never passes judgment on me."

"I see." She was silent for a moment. "And what of Aelfan?"

"What of him?"

"Will he be my closest companion?"

Éomer could sense that she was testing him—perhaps to see if he would make another blunder. "He will be, if you allow him," he said at last, "though I had hoped for that honor."

She smiled, and he knew he had passed. "Perhaps one day you shall have it," she murmured, so softly he almost did not hear her. She looked up quickly. "Now did we come here to chat or to ride?" she asked.

He grinned. "To ride."

* * *

The lessons went well that day. By the middle of the afternoon, Lothíriel could mount Aelfan without needing Éomer to hold the reins. When they returned to the city that evening, she was able to ride at a slow trot. Éomer was quite proud of his pupil, and he told her as much over their dinner.

She blushed and turned away. "You flatter me, surely."

He shook his head. "Few new riders learn so well in a week, let alone a single day."

"But I had some prior experience," she reminded him.

"Hmph." He crossed his arms. "And here I was, hoping you would say your quick learning was due to a most excellent teacher."

"So you wanted me to add to your hubris?" She raised an eyebrow. "I may be your student, but it does not mean I must give you full credit to my skills." She stood abruptly, and Éomer feared that he had offended her with his cajoling. She yawned loudly and stretched, walking toward the bedroom. "I do not know about you," she said, turning back to him, "but I believe I shall take a bath and go to bed. I'm exhausted." She flashed him a smile and disappeared into the bedroom.

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** ::grins:: i'm so glad everyone's really liking this story. and just so you know, it _was_ just a nightmare, and it is **not** a premonition of any sort. but it is important, in its own way (which you shall learn about later).  
also, just so you know, i have a new e/l idea, but it's very much in the early idea stages. you can find out more about it by going to my xanga (the link is in my profile). and join xanga, if you're not already a part of it…i'm going to start up an e/l blogring if there's enough people interested.


	7. Time For That Yet

**A/N:** yes, yes, bad lsoa, hasn't updated in nearly two months. but i have many excuses, none of them any good, except for the one about how my computer erased ALL of my files and i still haven't gotten the disk with the recovered ones (including most of ch. 23 of btsf) from the computer guy. that said, i'd also like to announce that this is the last chapter of this story (and a very short one at that). it seems that the ones i expect to be long (like this one) end up being short, and the ones i expect to be short (like my other two e/l fics) end up being long.

:disclaimer: the _real _reason i have not updated in so long is because i inherited beaucoups d'argent (lots of money) and bought all of the rights to lotr, the tolkien estate, etc. and have been very busy organizing it and reading tolkien's stories about e & l. and did you also know that the word "gullible" is written on the ceiling above your head?

* * *

Time For That Yet

Rohan was not so terrible as she had once believed. Of course, it helped that she and Éomer were on speaking terms. Lothíriel glanced at her husband and smiled as he snored gently. He looked very different asleep; he was more boyish and seemed less intimidating. Lothíriel brushed a lock of hair away from his mouth, and he twitched slightly and stopped snoring. She became mesmerized by his lips—the same lips that had kissed her own thrice now. The kiss that morning had been so sudden and unexpected. She thought of the feeling of her body pressed against his, of how natural it had seemed, and of the warmth that had flooded through her at his touch. She wondered what it would be like if she kissed him. Would there be a difference? She moved closer to him and placed a gentle kiss on his mouth. Of course, he did not respond, he was asleep after all, but as she moved back to her side of the bed, Lothíriel could have sworn that her husband smiled. She watched him suspiciously for a moment, waiting for him to open his eyes, but decided it had been a trick of the moonlight.

* * *

Éomer smiled to himself. She had kissed him. His wife had kissed him! He was ecstatic with the prospect of waking up with her beside him. And what was more, she seemed to be warming to the idea as well. He turned toward her. The moonlight illuminated her face, giving her a heavenly look. She was beautiful, and she was his! Or, at least, almost his. They had still not consummated the marriage. But there was time for that yet. For now, Éomer was satisfied. His lovely wife was beginning to trust and even to love him. He swept a hand across her cheek and she leaned into the touch, even in her sleep. Delighted, he moved closer to her, taking her into his arms.

She rubbed her head into his chest and opened her eyes slightly. "Yes?"

He smiled. "Lothíriel, I love you."

She pulled away slightly, and Éomer wondered if he had misread her. "You love me." She said it as a statement rather than a question.

"Yes."

A small smile crossed her lips as she laid down again, this time with her back to him. She tilted her head to look at Éomer. "Then I suppose I should tell you that I love you, too."

"You do?"

She did not speak for a moment, as if considering her words. "I do."

Éomer smiled. Yes, she was growing to love him, and there would be time for many things yet.

- fin -


	8. Author's Note

**Author's Note:  
**i am writing this for several reasons. first of all, i would like to thank everyone for their kind reviews for the duration of this story. i really enjoyed writing it and i enjoyed hearing from you. i'm quite certain that, had this story been the same length as tmmdts or btsf, it would most definitely have surpassed both in number of reviews, and for that, i thank you guys.

that said, i would like to address the abruptness of the ending: i know it was abrupt, and i know i had been planning to write a longer story, but i was losing interest as the author and it was a good place to end it. who knows? someday, i might pick it up and work on it again, or i might write a sequel. but for now, it is complete. i'm not writing an epilogue, i'm not writing another chapter, i'm not adding to it. i'm sorry if that disappoints some of you, but the story is over. it's finished. it's done with. there is nothing more to say about it.

_that _said, please watch for my next endeavor in eomer/lothiriel fanfiction, currently titled "but the eyes are blind" (but that is subject to change since i rename almost all of my stories). i've already got several pages in my notebook (ch. 1 should be up fairly soon) and a tentative timeline for the story (something i haven't done in four years). my real-life friends like it so far, and it looks like it may be my second-best e/l fic ever (the best being, of course, "the day rises"). and as soon as i get that disk with ch. 23 of btsf back, i will update it. spring break is in one, and i'll have a lot of time on my hands to write.

i'd also like to let you all know that you can get updates on where i'm at in a story by either checking out my bio once in a while or going to my xanga site (there's a link in my bio). i'll be posting announcements regularly in both places about the progress of my stories and/or give excuses as to why i haven't been updating. ; ) i recommend putting my xanga on your favorites (and join the site! i love it!), because i also post blurbs from random story ideas on it (lariren and lotr-nutcase can attest to that).

well anyways, i just wanted to get that off my shoulders. please continue to read my stuff (if i ever get it posted)! thank you! sere mi eru…lady scribe of avandell


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